


It's never as simple as that

by Ukthxbye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, F/M, Long Hair, Medical Examination, Mycroft Being Mycroft, POV Molly Hooper, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukthxbye/pseuds/Ukthxbye
Summary: She couldn’t deny the joy in her heart seeing him here and far as she could tell in one piece. Oh but that hair. It was clean and curly and wild like his beard. Though in fairness his curls have always been a bit wild. But now long and wet from whatever shower he took, with the scent of an expensive soap hitting her nose in this odorless sterile room, well, it has an effect.





	It's never as simple as that

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt came from Tumblr and Strangelock221b asking if anyone had written about Molly seeing Sherlock with the long hair in TEH. 
> 
> Thanks to Mizjoely and Strangelock221b for the encouragement.
> 
> Love to Mouse9, my ride or die beta who assured me I did the thing.

“Sherlock.”

Molly stares at her mobile mouth agape at the text that flashed on her mobile,

 

**A car will be there in 15 to pick you up. We are in need of a Doctor with current clearance for a medical examination and treatment of a patient. Thank you for cooperation, Dr. Hooper.**

 

Mycroft needs someone who knows he is alive and couldn’t risk anyone else yet. She gulps as the anxiety rises. She uses it to help develop her excuse.

 

“Oh I know, but this stomach virus going around is a tough one. I just can’t make it the rest of the day” She lies to her supervisor, feigning a weak voice on the phone. Her stomach flips at the lie and she does not have to feign the reaction. Her supervisor lets her go home with good wishes of her feeling better. She bolts down to the supply closet first.

 

More lies. Soon as the largest one of her life is about to be over with, she gets to start all the new little ones.

 

Her stomach twists again in joy and anxiety of seeing him again, but in what state would he be she wondered. Mycroft was not forthcoming with why he needed a medical exam. She quickly fills her bag with gathered supplies for sutures, ointments, and salves. She knows Mycroft can get her anything she needs in a moment’s notice but she liked to have her own. _The less I owe the better_ , she thinks. She steps in to retrieve her coat in the locker room. In its zippered pocket is the ring she usually slips back on as she walks out of the room and the building, heading home or to the pub with him. She stares at the pocket for a breath, slips on the coat and ignores its contents. She throws in a few pairs of gloves and gauze as well and catches the lift down.

 

There was a car outside waiting, non-descript but she has no doubt it is for her. She gets in quickly, ignoring a text from a co-worker asking where she went. On the way, she runs through every reaction to her possible. She didn’t know if he was conscious. _No, that would have been hospital visit, I would have stayed at Barts. He is upright and mobile but likely injured,_ she ponders. Or maybe she is going to another hospital, after all, St. Barts might not be secure enough and is _a bit on the nose considering his last appearance there_ , she thinks. She wonders if he even looks the same after all this time and she hates herself for the moment even giving it a thought.

 

The suited men waiting for her at the door made her jump.

 

“Welcome. Please follow me,” Mycroft’s assistant Anthea advises her.

 

Through a winding maze of hallways and rooms, they stop and enter one. “They will be with you shortly,” Anthea informs her and closes the door.

The room is eerily quiet and isolated.

 

It is small, windowless and white with a simple gurney and equipment table set near the far wall.

A dark wooden chair sits against the wall to her right and she paces a tight circle around the room before sitting in the chair and setting her bag beside her. Overpowering thoughts crash over her mind and any sense of calm she is clinging to. Years of holding onto a lie are done. She should feel relief. But she cannot find that emotion yet.  She realizes she never really thought this all through. That she will have to face every piece of what she was asked to do. Her job, her friends, everyone will know. She looks at the pocket of her jacket and takes the jacket off, hanging it on the chair.

 

 _I get to see Sherlock first. Patch him up once again._ That choice long ago no matter what he needed she would be there for him comes to its full circle. To believe in him no matter what. Oh but the prices she paid for it. _What will it all cost now,_ she frets.

 

As if on cue, Mycroft enters the room and Molly shoots up from the chair. Behind him is a tall man in simple brown trousers and a white shirt with no shoes. Long hair strings down covering his face which is bearded.

 

Mycroft steps aside and the man lifts his face up. There was no mistake as his sharp blue eyes met hers.

 

“Oh my--” Molly starts but put her hand to her mouth to stop her words.   


Sherlock stares for a moment expressionless, but his lips quickly rise into a grin.

 

“Hello, Molly Hooper,” he says, standing up tall and pushing his hair back from his face.

 

She grins back in response, biting her lip, “Hello again.”

 

She couldn’t deny the joy in her heart seeing him here and far as she could tell in one piece. Oh but that hair. It was clean and curly and wild like his beard. Though in fairness his curls have always been a bit wild. But now long and wet from whatever shower he took, with the scent of an expensive soap hitting her nose in this odorless sterile room, well, it has an effect.

 

Mycroft coughed, “Yes all wonderful pleasantries and such but you are in need of some better medical attention than eastern Europe could provide. I’ll leave you to it.” and he walked out closing the door loudly behind him.

 

She was glad she did not rush to hug Sherlock.

 

“I am sure this is awkward but it is needed I am afraid. I can feel fever growing in one of the lacerations,” he says plainly.

“I should ask how you got them, but I’m sure it classified,” she says with a small shrug.

 

“Whipped and cane beat a few times most recently” he answers quickly.

 

“Oh…” she lets slip as her eyes widen.

 

“Let me take off my clothes so you can examine the wounds,” he said in low voice.

 

Those words caused her face to color scarlet and she looks away for a moment to breathe and compose. _I was smart to wear a button up blouse today because I am sure the flush is all the way down now._ Molly put her gloves on quickly, thought the latex snapping sounded like a cannon in the small room.

 

He keeps his eyes on her while he disrobes much to her confusion and secret delight. She tucks her chin down as she gathers supplies from her bag, but her eyes look to the side and up at him. She should look away, for a number of reasons. Reasons she feels no compulsion to tell him about now.

 

Sherlock lifts his shirt off over his head and Molly can see all the lines of red and white popping off his skin like a map. And the muscles. His abs are tight and defined but that is due to weight loss she suspects. She spies the lines on his arms, both healing wounds and the definition of his arms from weight loss But maybe not as she looks closer as he drops his trousers.  No, there is more muscle there now. _Perhaps he has really been running the whole time,_ she thinks.  His pants are dark as her eyes slowly travel back up to his face. As he stands tall before her, her mind flashes to Tarzan, a favorite fantasy of her youth. _Me Jane indeed._ His hair, still wet, hangs in tendrils around his face. Her stomach flips at the thought of touching it. Only when he slips his thumbs in the band of his pants does she realize what is happening

 

“Oh, God sorry no! You can keep those on it's not that kind of exam,” She coughs out, voice cracking

 

He chuckles a bit. “Yes.  Let's get on with it then?”

 

Molly knows she should have looked away when he got undressed,  and she rubs her empty left ring finger unconsciously. But as Sherlock hops up on the gurney effortlessly, it triggers her to go back into a professional mode.

 

“I'm going to listen to your heart, check ears, and such first if that is ok?” Molly says softly.

 

Sherlock nods.

 

She takes a deep breath and quiets her own thoughts as she listens to his heart and breathing. Still, she knows if he was to check her pulse he would find it racing. But at least she can focus her mind even if her heart is betraying her as she lays a hand on this back. Otoscope now and checking his throat and eye response. This all happens in silence except their breathing. He anticipates what she is looking for next and this portion of the exam is done quickly. She puts the scope in her pocket and risks a look in his eyes as she moves on.

 

“I’ll take a look at your back first, that seems the worst of it,” Molly says as she shifts around to the narrow space between the wall and the gurney.

 

“Should I lay on my stomach?” he asks, holding her eyes for a moment.

 

She nods and gulps as he lays down. She can’t decide at first where to start but thinks neck down would be the way to go.

 

“I am going to start at the top and come down. Make sure everything is healing or find the ones that aren’t,” She relays to assure him.

 

Sherlock smiles, she sees it as his jawline shift. “I trust you.”

 

She waits for other words, but they do not come and she sees his eyes are closed. With a deep breath, she places a hand on his back to let him know her presence. She pushes the hair laying on his neck aside and he shivers involuntarily. She pauses staring at him and hopes she shifted her hand in time that he missed her responding shiver.

 

 _Focus dammit. You are above this and you are beyond this,_ she yells at herself internally.

 

With another breathe she begins looking at the wounds. Neck to shoulders, tracing lines and if he shudders at her touch, she gives it no notice unless he grunts in pain. There is no denying a large slash across his back is showing signs of infection. Bright red and warm to the touch.

 

“Gonna clean this one on your lower back really well. You were right about it getting infected,” she says, and then begins to look at his arms. “Just going to check others but I think you are doing pretty well under whatever care you got.”

 

She runs her fingers along some scratches, but most are old. And there are the white and dark scars she hopes are much older. _Well, at least they look like it_ , she thinks to herself and feels a pang of sadness hit her throat.

 

“You shouldn't think so loud,” he mumbles out, lifting his face off the gurney a bit. It causes her to jump a bit, hearing his voice after a while of just her own thoughts and voice.

 

She shrugs to herself, “Can’t help it sometimes. Besides I am examining you, I can’t help if I see the past damage too.”

 

“Clean, I promise,” he says plainly.

 

“It's fine, Sherlock,” she reassures.

 

The awkward silence again. Her thoughts go to Tom briefly as she scans Sherlock’s body one more time, this time not as professionally. She knows she is mapping when she should be forgetting. But she lies to herself again. She swallows hard and pushes herself back to the correct thoughts and mind frame.

 

“Ok I am going to clean that wound and it’s gonna hurt. Just letting you know I got to dig in there in a couple spots so if you want me to get something to numb it...,” she relays while gathering her tools and chemicals on the table.

 

“Do your worst,” he smirks.”Can’t hurt any more than it did to receive it.” He settles his head on his arms, gripping the edge of the gurney with his fingers wrapping around the top edge

 

Molly begins her work, pulling apart the laceration with her fingers to get deeper. His muscle tightens as she slowly cleanses it.

 

“Perhaps a distraction would do,” Sherlock grits and breathes out slowly. “Mycroft has been quiet on the status everyone. How’s Mrs. Hudson?”

 

Molly smiles, getting a new piece of gauze from the table. “She is happy.  Healthy. Traveled quite a bit with friends the last year. I went by for tea as often as I could”

 

“Excellent,” he says straining a slight smile. “Gavin?

 

“Greg is well,” she replies, digging in a bit to clean, eliciting a whimper from him.

 

He breathes shallowly for a moment and then it settles, his knuckles white as they loosen their grip.

 

Silence hangs heavy in the small room for a few breaths. But her mind is on fire. It’s been years since she heard them, but his thoughts practically scream from his body to her.

 

“John is well far as I know. I haven’t seen him awhile” she says softly, answering those thoughts as she finishes dressing the wound.

 

Sherlock shifts silently at her words. She knows, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that John is the only one he truly felt concern for when he asked how everyone is doing. She wishes there was more assurance she could provide. Some tidbit of information that she could share to rekindle that secret bond she and Sherlock had before he left. Secrecy she might well pay for if Tom finds out. _Well, if he finds out._ Some things will remain classified between the parties involved. _There are the lies for him again; just little ones I get to keep forever,_ she thinks.

 

“I will pay him a visit and surprise him of course, “ Sherlock breaks the quiet of the room and her loud internal musings.

 

Molly frowns, “Are you...sure that is a good idea? He thinks you are dead.”

 

Sherlock half laughs, “He will be ecstatic and reasonable I am sure.” Then he grimaces as she cleans off a wound near his neck.

 

“Sorry, should have warned you where I was. Just a quick clean on that one,” she says as she bites her lips.

 

He sighs, irritation hidden in it, “Its fine. Though if we are done, I am really looking forward to that shave and haircut.”

 

Molly strips off her gloves, “Yes that will do. Need to use this cream though,’ she says, handing him the cream as he sits up and stretches.

 

She watches him dress again, more staring she should not do, she reminds herself. Especially when her thoughts stray when he pushes back that hair behind his ears, and finds her eyes with those all too blue ones of his for much too long. Something akin to warmth floods his face and she finds her heart rate jump much to her dismay.

 

“Thank you again, Molly,” he starts as he shifts forward close to her but the door opens and both their eyes shoot to it.

 

Mycroft enters and places his hands in his pocket. “All patched up I presume? Well, we have much to discuss,” he says looking at Sherlock.

 

Then he turns to Molly and adds, “Thank you again for your service. Anthea will see you out and we have a vehicle to carry you to your flat to keep the illusion of, what was it, a stomach virus, yes.”

 

With a nod and look back at Sherlock, they all leave the room, her grabbing her bag and following Anthea to the left as Sherlock and Mycroft turn to the right without a second glance at her.

 

Molly gives them the same courtesy.

 

-:-

 

Sherlock sits back, hair freshly cut to his satisfaction and now he relishes a long due shave from that itchy beard.

 

“She is engaged you know” Mycroft stares his brother.

 

“Yes, I haven’t slipped that much. Not wearing the ring at work because of risk to it. Same reason she wasn’t wearing it now. Noted the indention from wear though; so outside of work it is always worn. She even rubbed the finger once as if she was feeling for the ring. Obvious sign of devotion.” Sherlock speaks like laying out facts for a case.

 

He feels smug always did when he deduces small and emotional things his brother might miss.

 

“Hm…” Mycroft breathes out his nose. “Yes, I would say so” he drawls out, curling the side of his mouth up in a knowing way, looking down at his brother.

Sherlock narrows his eyes, unsure what his brother is implying in his tone but moves on to his plans to greet everyone, including a trip to Barts.

 

“You have already seen Molly,” Mycroft teases, sitting and leaning back in his chair.

 

The corner of Sherlock’s lips curls up, “In all fairness, she saw the version she isn't used to. She needs to see what she aided into completion. A haircut and shave, along with the clothing is the culmination of our work together.”

 

Mycroft raises his eyebrow and knowingly smiling once again. “Ever the flair for the dramatic, dear brother.”

 

 _Again with that look_ , Sherlock ponders and changes the subject.

 

-:-

 

 _So what if I like surprises_ , Sherlock thinks to himself as he encounters Molly at her locker. Perfectly placed as she opens its door, reflected in the mirror is the Sherlock she knows so well and if she is honest with herself, loves.

 

She swallows, her lips creeping in slowly to grin responding to his slight but smug smile.

 

“Welcome back, Sherlock Holmes,” she says happily. _Perhaps the lie was worth it in the end_ , she thinks.

 

“To the lab? After you,” he gestures with one hand toward the door and the other formally behind his back.  

 


End file.
